Newsgroups: alt.tasteless, alt.drunken.bastards
Date: 03 Jul 96

(Part One of drunken assault snipped for brevity)

Reilly Lambert wrote:

Thee Lamberto stumbles in the station laughing hysterically, with an empty bottle in his hand.

"Who drank the last of it?" Thee lamberto sayz.

"I deed." sayz the asshuffer.

Thee lamberto jumps two feet in the air, throws the bottle by the neck, and everyone watches it crash into the asshuffers forehead.

Looking down at his watch, he mutters to nobody in particular: "It's tee time. Batter-the-fuck-up."

With three large gulps, he swills the beer and squats down for a more advantageous assessment of the situation. With a 75-decibel belch followed by slight laugh, Joel yanks the asshuffers pants down to the knees and, with one swift motion, crams the bottle halfway into his victim's rectum, turning the anal intruder left-then-right, right-the-left to ensure it's properly lodged.

With a Timberland planted on the 'huffer's rump for balance, Joel stands and slowly positions his grip on the golf club. Looking around for possible innocent bystanders or authorities, Joel decides to complete the re-education.

"Get outta the way, Reilly. This will be messy," Joel promises.

"You're sick, man, you know that?" Reilly protests. "You got something fuckin' wrong with your head or something. That is so goddamn wrong!"

"I never alleged it's right," Joel answers. "Rather, it's what I want to do."

In one swift motion, Joel yanks the driver back and positions it parallel to his shoulders. Still chuckling to himself, he grits his teeth, squints his eyes, looks down at his target and executes a rapid follow-through.

In a fraction of a second, the club's polished wooden head is circularly arched diagonally through the air and meets the base of the beer bottle protruding from the 'huffer's ass.

Reilly instinctively shields his eyes and tries not to watch the fascinating anal-carnage occurring not 30 feet from where he's standing. Curiosity proves too much and he observes the poop-chute pulverization of one very unfortunate asshuffer fallen victim to one irrational, emotionally disturbed drunkard.

A dull *THUD* reverberates careens the station walls; it is a "large" sound, similar to a metal drum, partially filled with many pounds of flesh, being slammed against the cement.

Reilly's stomach tightens at the thought of newly modified 'huffer's anal cave. His throat knots and he tries to swallow his disgust once...two times...perhaps on the thrid time? No. He's witnessed too much and now his body is going to physically react accordingly. The 12 Bass Ales he'd consumed earlier for breakfast begin foaming and erupting from his stomach. Joel notices Reilly's reaction to the coal-train carnage and barks an order:

"Over here, man! On his head! Puke on his fuckin' head!"

Staggering forward and against his better judgement, Reilly clamours over to the 'huffer and leans slightly over the victim's head. Before he can warn Joel to be wary of how close he's got his boots placed, a viscous soup of warm beer and semi-liquid potato chips erupts from Reilly's mouth. A sickly and bitter smell drifts from the slopping mess and tickles Joel's nose. Hi smiles at the release of the odor.

Choking and staggering on his feet, Reilly's face jerks slightly upward with each contracting heave of his stomach as his former breakfast, now a bath of hot bile for the asshuffer, gushes upwards past Reilly's esophagus and is propelled through the air downward onto the asshuffer.

Regaining the basic shreds of his senses, the victim begins flinching and shuddering, as though anticipating another volley from the five-wood at any time. But Joel decides to waste nary a decent golf club on the skull of the asshuffer and opts instead to simply grind the heel of his boots and Reilly's vomit into the pores of the 'huffer's head.

"Take that, motherfucker!" Joel yells down towards the crumpled pile of flesh on the platform, now reduced to a trembling mass of bones and gelatinous ooze. "Don't you ever fucking forget this night, you fuckin' hear me?" Joel's screaming is more in statement than in question form, but the beaten bag of flesh moans an aggreement.

Reilly finishes "decorating the cake," finally, and staggers over to a nearby wall to steady himself for a few minutes and witness the Boot Party from a safer and better-smelling distance.

"Hey...hey...don't kill him," Reilly moans, his throat and stomach raw from the previous few minutes' Technicolor Yawn. "You're not gonna kill him, are ya?"

"Fear not, young Reilly," Joel answers. "He'll not be so lucky as to feel death's warm embrace, not today anyway. From here on out, he's got a mission, finally, a purpose in life!"

"Why don't you cut the King Henry IV bullshit and just fuckin' answer me!" Reilly yells.

"Alright, damnit! I'm not gonna kill him!" Joel shouts back. "I'm only gonna make an example out of 'im!"

"What kinda example?" Reilly asks.

"The kinda example of what happens when some motherfucker with a modem and an attitude thinks he can come into the one place where people like you and me congregate, start some shit, and then get away Scott-free. That's what kinda example I wanna set."

"Man," Reilly says, laughing nervously. "You really are out there, aren't you? Oh my ghod."

"I'm stuck here for the next year, so I may as well have some fun while I can!" Joel responds, withdrawing a pair of pliars from his right pocket. "Here, gimme a hand with keeping his mouth open."

"Now what?! Aren't you done yet?" Reilly insists.

"Almost," Joel says. "I wanna make a necklace out of his teeth. He's such a prolific typist that I thought I'd save his hands, being the compassionate individual that I am. But his teeth, well, they're another story altogether. Those he can definitly do without."

Reilly saunters over to Joel to watch the dental extractions. His stomach won't allow him to handle the asshuffer's jaw just yet, or even so much as hold each of the teeth as they're freed from the 'huffer's sperm-burping orifice.

Thirty minutes later, the task is complete. Reilly and Joel wander off to a local dive bar to drink some beer....

* * *

BODY DISCOVERED ON TRACKS
_________________________

New York (AP) - A semi-mutilated corpse was found dumped beside the tracks of the Uptown Number Six Train at the Astor Place Station early yesterday morning, authorities said.

The slaying was described as "disgusting...senseless," Sergeant Guido "the Speedo" Lombardo Machado III told reporters at the scene.

The white, male victim's identity is not yet known, as fingerprints have turned up no answers and the victim's teeth were removed prior to death, making dental-record identification impossible, police said.

Witnesses who discovered the body early Tuesday morning described the victim as a "sissy, punk-ss looking b---h," but authorities will neither confirm nor deny these allegations.

In addiction to the bizarre circumstances surrounding the killing, a forensics team dispatched to the scene reported finding a regular, plastic spoon and shards of glass were protruding from the victim's anus, police said.

Both the specific type and style of the glass and spoon discovered at the scene are being witheld, for reasons of copy-cat slayings, police said.

If you have any information regarding this crime, please call 1-800-STC-HOAD.

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